


Need You, Hate You

by wilddragonflying



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Caring, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, I AM NOT FUCKING KIDDING, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, M/M, Psychological Trauma, Shapeshifter, not for a good long while, seriously this is not a happy fic, traumatized!Stiles, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 12:23:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all starts when a shapeshifter comes to town. He's looking for more power, and finds it in the form of Stiles Stilinski, the only human in a pack of werewolves, and the one who just-so-happens to be the Alpha's mate, even if he doesn't realize it yet.<br/>And for the amount of power he wants, there's only one way to get it.<br/>After he gets almost all that he wants-- not all, thanks to the pack's timely intervention-- Stiles is, quite frankly, a mess. Even worse than when his mother died.<br/>Then the shifter comes back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS NOT A HAPPY FIC. AND WHILE IT WILL HAVE A HAPPY ENDING, SERIOUSLY. DO NOT READ IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO DEAL WITH EMOTIONAL TRAUMA FROM RAPE.  
> I feel bad for what I'm doing to Stiles here. I am going to try to be as accurate as possible with the trauma effects, but they probably won't be entirely accurate. I am seriously going to warn you, this shit needs MAJOR trigger warnings, and they're right up there in the tags.  
> DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT A DARK FIC.  
> It will(eventually) end happily, but it will take a while to get there.

When Stiles came to, the first thing that crossed his mind was, _Really? Chains?_

While that may seem random, it was actually relevant: His arms were chained above his head, and his ankles were chained to—the corner of a bed.

Not a bad bed, actually.

Kind of comfortable.

Except for, y’know, the whole being-chained-to-it part.

Stiles glanced around, but there really wasn’t much to see; no windows, dirty walls, dirty floor, a door, and a bucket in one corner. Not a whole lot to go on.

Stiles shivered when he felt a draft over his skin—and wait.

Skin?

“Fuck,” he muttered, glancing down to see that he was completely naked.

Well, that ruled out any remaining shred of hope that there was a non-nefarious reason for Stiles being chained to a bed.

A rustling sound from the other side of the door made him look up, and he felt his jaw drop when Derek walked into the room. He blushed heavily and tried to cover himself, except, oh yeah, he was _chained to the wall above the bed._

“Well, isn’t this a sight I’ve been waiting to see,” Derek purred, but there was something… off about it. Like it was Derek’s voice coming through an ultra-high quality speaker.

The little bugs that had been ambling along under Stiles’s skin and up his spine picked up the pace. Something was seriously wrong here. “Really?” he asked, and maybe it was a stupid move, but sue him. There wasn’t anything else that he could do besides shoot his mouth off, since he was chained to the fucking bed.

“Oh _yes_ ,” not-Derek grinned. “The Alpha’s favorite pet? Oh, there’s some power in you, boy. Not just that little magic-spark business, either. Actual power. You’re more pack than you realize, aren’t you?”

Stiles could feel himself hyperventilating as not-Derek stalked—fucking _stalked_ —closer to the bed, reaching out with one hand to run a claw up the inside of Stile’s calf, knee, and then thigh.

“We’re going to have a lot of fun, you and I.”


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really really really really really hate myself for doing this to these poor characters. Especially Derek and Stiles. Unfortunately, I am one of those crazy people who cannot just drop a story idea. I don't even know where the hell this came from. I think was thinking about hurt/comfort fics. And maybe something about how Stiles should be scared of Derek for some reason. I don't even know.  
> Anyway. TRIGGER WARNING. I don't think there's anything too bad in this chapter, but I will make sure to put that warning in EVERY chapter, just in case.

It took the pack three days to find him.

Derek was ready to go out there and start ripping people apart until someone fucking _told him where Stiles was_ , but thankfully his Betas and Scott were a little more controlled. Not a whole lot—Derek could smell the fear and anxiety coming off of everyone in waves—but they were better than he was.

Fucking _hell_ , couldn’t the kid manage to at least get himself kidnapped by something that _wasn’t a fucking shapeshifter?_ It was like chasing smoke.

Finally, however, Scott managed to track the thing down, and they confronted it, ran it out of town, and found Stiles chained to a bed, unconscious, covered in blood, but most of it—

Derek didn’t want to think about that. Because if he thought about it, he was going to go hunt down the shifter and rip it apart limb from limb, and then feed the limbs to the head before ripping that off, too, and—

And it was just better if he didn’t think about it.

The only remotely good thing about this whole damned situation, in Derek’s opinion, was that Scott’s mother was on duty at the hospital, so when they brought Stiles in, there was no unnecessarily awkward explanations needed just yet.

Once Stiles was settled into a bed and hooked up to an IV drip—still unconscious—then she turned to Derek, raising an eyebrow in a wordless demand for an explanation.

“Shifter,” Derek said, his eyes locked on Stiles’s face. “Got—“ He had to swallow, because this was just _sick_ and wrong, and why the hell did it have to be Stiles, of all people, why Stiles?—“Got power-hungry. The power he wanted only—only comes one way,” he managed to grit out, and luckily Mrs. McCall understood what he was saying, because she laid a soothing—or maybe sympathetic—hand on Derek’s arm.

“You got him out, Derek. You got him out, he’s safe now,” she said softly, but Derek just squeezed his eyes shut, because he shouldn’t have _had_ to get Stiles out, he should’ve been able to protect Stiles in the first place, if he wasn’t so—

There was a beep from the monitor, a beep that signaled Stiles was coming around, and Derek moved closer unconsciously, wanting, _needing_ to know that Stiles was okay, that he wasn’t going to be in pain.

“Stiles?” he asked, his voice a breathless whisper even he didn’t recognize. But apparently Stiles did, because his eyes flew open, and when they landed on Derek, Stiles let out a scream, scrambling to try to get away from Derek, his scream devolving into little whimpers and moans of “Please, no, no, no, no, not again, please, no, _please,_ ” and Derek didn’t need Mrs. McCall frantically pulling on his arm to get the hint.

He all but fled from the room, but he stopped a little ways down the hall, standing next to Scott, Erica, Boyd, Isaac, and Allison, who were all looking at him in shock. Derek felt like he was going to be sick; Stiles had reacted to _him_. Him, specifically, because he could hear Stiles’s heartbeat semi-calming down now that Derek was gone, could hear the broken little whimpers and sobs that he was muffling in Mrs. McCall’s shoulder, and he looked up, meeting the horrified gazes of his pack. “I don’t… I don’t know,” he said, his voice flat, dull, answering the unspoken question of _What did you do?_ “I don’t know.”

+++

Stiles laid on his back, looking up at the ceiling, trying to will his heartbeat to slow down, to return to normal. He was in a hospital, he could see that now, but when he’d woken up, and Derek was standing next to him—It had startled him.

Correction: It had scared the fucking _shit_ out of him.

Mrs. McCall, though, had explained what had happened, that Derek and the rest of the pack had gotten Stiles out of that place, run the shapeshifter off—and while Stiles was relieved that it had been a shifter, not Derek, that had done… _that_ to him, he had to wonder why the shifter had chosen that particular form—and brought him to the hospital. Derek had barely allowed Stiles out of his sight long enough to receive the blood transfusion and be set up in the room.

“Can I see Scott?” Stiles finally asked, and, _ow_ , talking hurt. Probably the screaming earlier hadn’t helped.

Mrs. McCall nodded, and reached out to stroke his hair soothingly like she had twenty million times before, but froze when Stiles flinched away from the contact. He didn’t like the thought of anyone touching him, not now. He felt slightly guilty, but Mrs. McCall smiled understandingly at him. “I’ll go bring him in,” she promised, getting up.

When Scott came in, Stiles gave him a tired smile. “So, what the hell took me?” he asked, sitting up a bit.

Scott scowled, his eyes roving over Stiles’s body, but apparently his mother had told him about Stiles’s aversion to physical contact, because he didn’t try to reach out and touch Stiles like he was undoubtedly dying to, what with werewolves being very tactile creatures by nature. “Shapeshifter,” Scott answered, his voice sounding tired. “Stiles, god, I’m so sorry that it took us so long—“

“Dude, it’s a fucking shifter. Their very name suggests they’ll be hard to find,” Stiles said, smiling again. “Shifters have amazing stamina, who knew?” he said, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

His words got the opposite affect. Scott snarled. “How the hell can you _joke_ about this, Stiles? That thing fucking—“

“Fucked me. Repeatedly. And not even in different positions.” Stiles caught the look on Scott’s face, and he sighed. “Scott, if I don’t joke about this, I’m going to freak out. I don’t know if you caught my little screaming exhibition a while ago, but I don’t want to give a repeat performance.”

Scott looked guilty at that. “Why did you scream when you saw Derek, anyway?” he asked, looking at Stiles intently.

Stiles swallowed, the sound audible to even his ears. “Derek—The thing used—“ He could feel his throat closing up, and Scott’s eyes widened as he realized what Stiles was trying to say.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “The damn thing—It looked—“

Stiles nodded, picking at the bedsheet, unable to look Scott in the eye. He knew that right now he wasn’t freaking out solely because it wasn’t real yet, the fact that he was out. He hadn’t just been joking; shifters did have seemingly unlimited stamina, and little to no recovery time necessary. Might’ve been fun if Stiles had actually, you know, _consented._

Scott growled, the sound rumbling in his chest, and Stiles winced, looking up. “Don’t tell him,” he pleaded softly. “Please, Derek doesn’t—He’s gonna beat himself up enough as it is. Please don’t tell him.” Dammit, this was one time he would’ve loved to have Scott’s puppy-dog eyes.

Scott frowned. “I can’t just not tell him, or the others. Stiles, we’re _all_ going to want to be there for you, and we can’t if only I know what the thing did to you.”

“Pretty obvious what it did, don’t you think?” Stiles said harshly. “Fine. Fine. You tell him, but don’t blame me when he goes batshit crazy; I warned you.”

“Stiles, man—“

“Don’t. Scott, please. Just… Just not right now, okay?” He looked up at Scott desperately. “I seriously just cannot, right now. I just want to rest for a while.” The last sentence was said in a murmur, and Scott made a sympathetic noise, and it grated on Stiles’s nerves, though he didn’t say anything.

“Want me to tell the others no more company for right now?” Scott asked, and Jesus fuck, Stiles hated the fact that his voice was so gentle, even though part of him also knew that Scott was just trying to be considerate, and Stiles couldn’t blame him for that.

He nodded. “Not for a while. I just want to rest.”

He waited until Scott was gone before sinking back down and rubbing his hands over his eyes, trying not to let the images of the past few days break past the barrier he’d somehow managed to erect, the only thing keeping him from completely breaking down and having a panic attack, or crying, or screaming, or just going completely numb. He somehow managed to fall asleep, but even there he didn’t have any refuge from the shifter.

+++

Derek paced up and down the hallway, stopping a few doors down from Stiles’s room, and trying desperately not to eavesdrop on the conversation going on in there between Scott and Stiles. When Scott emerged, he whirled and had to stop himself from pouncing on the young Alpha. “What’d he say?” he demanded.

Scott eyed him warily. “I need to talk to you in private,” he said finally. Derek glanced around, and he could see the worried looks on everyone else’s faces, the tension palpable.

He nodded once, jerkily, and followed Scott out of the hospital and to Derek’s Camaro. When Derek gave him a confused glance, Scott simply shook his head. “You’re not going to like this, and I don’t want to have this conversation in town,” he said, refusing to elaborate.

Derek really didn’t have a choice; this was going to be really bad, he could feel it crawling up and under his skin like ants. He got into the driver’s seat, turned the ignition key, and drove out of town, to the old Hale house. When they got there, he killed the engine and stepped out of the car, pacing several feet away before turning to face Scott. “What is it? What did he tell you?” he asked, feeling the tense undercurrent ratcheting up another notch.

Scott scrubbed his hands over his face. “The shifter… The shifter raped him. But not just as some random person.” When Scott couldn’t meet his eyes, Derek knew what was coming. “It used your body.”

Derek froze. It almost felt like even his heart stopped, but that was impossible, because he was still standing, and suddenly he could hear his heartbeat thundering in his ears. “Oh god,” he whimpered—and some other time he would mad about that, but not now—taking an involuntary step backwards. “Oh god. No wonder—“ He couldn’t find the words, because, really, what words were there, when you found out that the shifter that raped the guy you’re in love with using _your_ body?

No wonder Stiles had freaked out so badly when he’d seen Derek standing next to his hospital bed. He must have thought— “Oh Jesus Christ.” Derek had to sit down. He did, sinking to the grass as he stared blankly ahead. This was… insanely bad. Horrendous.

“Derek?” Scott asked cautiously, moving forward a few steps. Derek snarled at him suddenly, half-wolfing out. Scott froze, holding up his hands placatingly.

Derek stayed on the grass for how long, he didn’t know. He just knew that his mind refused to work, refused to move past the image of himself—Yeah, he’d imagined having sex with Stiles before. But when he’d imagined it—usually during showers, or in the middle of the night when there was no one else around—it had been either rough and wild, or slow and sweet, but always, _always_ , with Stiles a willing participant. Now, however, he felt like he was going to puke, imagining himself touching Stiles like that, because now Stiles wasn’t willing, he was protesting, screaming, begging—

“ _Derek!_ ” Scott snapped, and Derek’s head shot up, and he glared at Scott.

“What?” he snarled, vaguely realizing that his hands were clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms. He forced himself to relax, watching detachedly as the wounds on his palms healed instantly.

“You need to pull yourself together. For Stiles. He’s not going to get better if he doesn’t have everyone in this with him, with _all_ of them having their heads on right. You need to focus,” Scott said, crouching down in front of Derek.   
“How the hell am I supposed to focus?” Derek snapped. “How the hell am I supposed to look at Stiles and not see—“

“Because you care about him, jackass. And, God only knows why, but he cares about you, too; that hasn’t changed despite what happened. He didn’t want me to tell you, but if I didn’t, you’d just find out some other way.” Scott stared at him intently while Derek processed that. Stiles… Stiles still cared about him?

“So, then. What should I do? You know him better than I do,” Derek said, looking up at Scott questioningly. “I’ll do whatever you think is best.”


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING  
> Again, I don't think this is all that trigger-y, but just to be on the safe side.

Stiles had to stay in the hospital for a week, and then he was only let out if he promised to stay in his house, move as little as possible—the doctors were still worried about tearing the inside of his rectum again with too much stress—and basically just try to recover. There was therapy being scheduled, but Stiles put his foot down at that. He was not going to therapy, because if he did, then all he would be doing would be sitting there for an hour doing absolutely nothing, because no therapist would know how to deal with this sort of situation.

When he got home, his dad was… awkward. But if Stiles was being honest with himself, he hadn’t expected anything any different. But the sheriff was trying, so Stiles had to give him credit for that.

It wasn’t his fault, after all, that Stiles woke up screaming from nightmares every night, or that Stiles was unable to bear any touch and was reluctant to let anyone even close to him.

Everyone in the pack—except for Derek—came by to visit, and Stiles was happy to have their company, even if it was only watching movies and eating junk food. Vaguely, Stiles was aware that school was starting in a couple of weeks. That was going to be… fun.

Not. From the way Scott and everyone else were acting, most of town already knew what had happened to Stiles, or close enough. Stiles was _not_ looking forward to the looks he’d be getting.

“Stiles.” His father’s voice was quiet, but uncomfortable, and Stiles automatically tensed, bracing for whatever was coming next.

“Yeah, Dad?” he asked, grinning slightly. It obviously looked just as forced as it felt, because his father frowned.

“Look, Stiles, it’s been almost two weeks. You haven’t said much of anything. But I—Look, you need to tell me: Who did it?”

Stiles blanched. He had very deliberately _not_ been thinking about those three days while he was awake, because he didn’t think he could handle—fuck that, he didn’t _want_ to handle it. He knew, logically, that Derek hadn’t really been the one to rape him, but… That didn’t stop the panic from coming every time that Stiles thought about the Alpha, or more specifically, thought about the Alpha in the way that he had before all of this had happened. Now, whenever Stiles imagined Derek touching him, holding him, kissing him, stroking him, it was more likely to send him into a panic attack than get him off.

“Stiles?”

Stiles jolted from his thoughts, taking a deep breath. “I didn’t know them,” he mumbled. That much was true; he didn’t know the shifter.

Stilinski narrowed his eyes. “You know that they… took samples, when you were brought in? I could just ask them for the results of that DNA, run it against some others. I’ve got my suspicions.”

“No!” Stiles lunged forward from where he was sitting on his bed, his hand outstretched, but he stopped just short of actually grabbing his father’s arm. “No, Dad, please, I _swear_ , it’s no one that we know. You gotta believe me; you’ll never catch them.” He stared pleadingly at his father, his breath coming in pants, and that strange buzzing at the back of his skull that signaled an oncoming panic attack if he didn’t calm down right the fuck now, but he ignored it in favor of trying to convince his dad to not investigate this any further.

“Stiles! Stiles, calm down, you’re gonna get yourself all worked up!” His father sounded panicked, moving forward to grab Stiles’s shoulders, probably to steer him back to the bed, or maybe just hold him steady, but Stiles didn’t even realize what he was doing until his father’s head was cracking back against the wall and he was scrambling backwards until he could sit on the bed. Stiles stared at his father, who just stared at him, the both of them studying each other.

“Oh god, Dad, I’m sorry,” he choked out.

His father shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—Melissa told me—I’m sorry. I just, I don’t know what to _do,_ Stiles. You’re not talking about it, Derek isn’t, Scott isn’t, no one is talking about this, or trying to track the bastard down—“

“Dad, they’re working on it,” Stiles said quietly. “Trust me. Scott, Derek, Isaac, and everyone. They’re working on it.” His father knew about the werewolves and the hunters, but other than that, he didn’t really want much to do with the supernatural. Stiles figured that maybe now would be a good time to tell his father that is was a shifter that kidnapped him, but he couldn’t make his throat work.

Stilinski eyed Stiles cautiously before nodding once, warily. “Okay. I’ll—I’ll wait, okay? I don’t like this, but I’ll wait.”

Stiles just swallowed, closed his eyes, and nodded, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.

+++

Derek glanced up at Scott. “Any luck finding the shifter?” he asked, getting sick of Scott’s pacing.

“No,” Scott said shortly. “And Stiles—he’s not _dealing_ with this. He’s just… avoiding it.” Scott plopped down on the dusty couch beside Derek, who coughed, glaring at the younger man. “Look, I think you need to talk to him.”

Derek froze. “Me? Scott, remember what happened—“

“Yeah, I know, but he was just waking up for the first time. It’s been two weeks, Derek; maybe you can at least talk to him.” Scott was looking at him hopefully now. “He might talk to you. He won’t talk to his dad, or me, or Allison, or Lydia, or _anyone_ else. But he might talk to you.”

Derek barked out a harsh laugh. “And why would he? Scott, the shifter _used my body_ to rape him. At the very least, he’s going to be wondering why.”

“I’ve been wondering that already. Why would the shifter use your shape?” Now the other wolves—Erica, Boyd, and Isaac—all stopped and looked at Derek expectantly.

He glanced around, and then huffed out a sigh. “Look, I wasn’t sure—and God, I wish I was still unsure, that this had never happened—but… Well, werewolves have mates. Like soulmates. But they’re extremely rare; we just got lucky.” He nodded to Erica and Boyd, Scott and Allison. “You two, you two, and Lydia and Jackson are all mated pairs. And Stiles is my mate.” He hung his head, scrubbing his hands through his hair. “I couldn’t protect him,” he muttered.

“Okay, so, Stiles is your mate. Not exactly a huge shock to us; we were kind of expecting something like that anyway,” Erica said. Derek could smell the confusion hanging thick and heavy in the air. “So why did the shifter want him?”

“Because he wanted more power. The only way for him to get that power was to take it from an Alpha’s mate. It’s tied in to blood magic, which makes it all the more dangerous.” Derek pushed himself to his feet, and idly thought that he was a hypocrite; he hated Scott’s pacing, yet here he was, doing the same thing. “He didn’t get everything he wanted, so he’ll be back.”

“Which means we stick with Stiles,” Isaac said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

“That’s what we did before, and he still got taken!” Derek snarled. “I don’t want to just do what we did before. We need to protect him. _I_ need to protect him.”

“Derek, we’ll all protect him. Stiles is a pain in the ass—usually—but we all care about him,” Isaac said quietly, moving forward and laying a careful hand on his Alpha’s shoulder. Derek was tempted to snap at it, but he held himself back, counseling and reminding himself that they were just trying to help.

“All right,” he announced, turning to face the rest of the pack. “I’ll go talk to him tonight.”

+++

Stiles shot upright in bed.

Something was wrong.

His heart was pounding through his ribs, and it took several minutes before he could hear the knocking on the window over the drumbeats of his heart. Stiles debated for a second whether or not to actually get up and check it out, but he eventually got up. That sound was getting annoying, was all.

He bit back a yelp when Derek’s face appeared in his window, and he scrambled backward, falling on his ass. “Oh god, oh god, oh god,” he whimpered, his heartbeat picking up speed again, his blood pulsing through his ears, his breath coming in short gasps. The shifter had found him, had come back for him, was going—

“Stiles! Stiles! Shit, I _knew_ I should have brought Scott,” Derek growled, opening the window and cautiously stepping into the room, but leaving the window open and easing down so that he was sitting under it, his back pressed to the wall. “Stiles, listen to me: It’s me, Derek. I swear it’s not the shifter.”

“How—How—“ Stiles gulped, scrambling further backwards until he was pressed up against his bed, his chest heaving. It looked and _sounded_ like Derek—none of that weird speaker-type quality to his voice—but still, why would Derek come visit now?

“Stiles, the first time we saw each other, I tossed the inhaler that Scott had lost to Scott. I slammed your head into the steering wheel of your Jeep, I asked you to saw off my arm, and you once named me ‘Miguel’ because you suck at lying and wanted to pass me off as your cousin to Danny,” Derek said, his voice calm, but Stiles could see the emotion bubbling in the Alpha’s eyes, and he slowly relaxed, just a little bit.

“It’s really you?” he asked cautiously.

Derek nodded, but gave no indication that he was going to move from his spot under the window. “I’m just here to talk, Stiles. Scott said that maybe it would do you a little good, seeing that I’m just me.”

Stiles studied Derek closely before clearing his throat. “Look, I appreciate what you and Scott want to do for me,” he began, finally able to hear his own voice over his heartbeat, “but I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not,” Derek said, his voice quiet but leaving no room for argument. “You’re not okay, Stiles, you’re not _dealing_ with this. You’ve shoved it back in some corner of your mind, and you’re not dealing with it.”

“Maybe that’s just how I deal,” Stiles retorted. “Maybe I just need to take a while so that I can examine it without becoming overwhelmed.”

“Or maybe that’s all bullshit,” Derek countered. He took a deep breath, and Stiles’s gaze was automatically drawn to the werewolf’s expanding chest, appreciation flashing through him before being replaced by choking fear as he remembered the shifter’s chest expanding in the same way as he—

“Stiles!”

Stiles jolted, smacking the back of his head against the bedpost, and he winced, automatically curling in on himself, waiting for a blow that didn’t come. Instead, all that came was a soft voice. “I’m sorry, Stiles, but you were panicking; I had to distract you. I could hear your heartbeat speeding up, and smell your fear. I don’t want to startle you, but I had to, or you would have had a panic attack, and I can’t make it better, I can’t hold you, or touch you, not without making it worse.”

Stiles slowly uncurled himself, looking cautiously across the room to Derek, who had only shifted so that he was leaning slightly more forward than he had earlier. Stiles could read the worry and fear in the older man’s eyes, and he slowly pulled in a deep breath, reminding himself that this was _Derek_ , not the shifter. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Derek leaned back, keeping an eye on Stiles. “You’re welcome,” he said simply.

Stiles didn’t feel like talking, for once in his life, and Derek didn’t push him. They both simply sat there until Stiles finally said, “I’m gonna—“ and gestured vaguely to his bed.

Derek nodded. “I’ll hang around for a bit, outside of the house. Keep an eye out. We all will,” he added, waiting for Stiles to nod before he quickly climbed out the window, shutting it behind him.

Stiles climbed into bed, and quickly burrowed under the covers, thinking back over the exchange. Derek seemed… a lot nicer, about this whole thing, than Scott or anyone else. Derek acted like he wasn’t going to push Stiles until Stiles was ready to talk. Stiles appreciated that.

He didn’t go to the window to look for Derek, but he wanted to.


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING  
> They discuss the rape a bit in this chapter, but I'm not going to go into major detail in the story; partly because I wouldn't be able to do the horrible-ness justice, and partly because I'm sure whatever you guys come up with would be a lot worse.  
> So, yeah.  
> TRIGGER WARNING

Over the next few weeks, Stiles slowly got better at interacting with people, but for some weird reason, he was still the most comfortable around Derek. Don’t get him wrong; Derek was thrilled that Stiles was relaxed around him, even after what had happened, but he still couldn’t help but feel like the other shoe was going to drop soon. The night before school started found Derek once more sitting in Stiles’s room, his back against the wall under the window, while Stiles sat cross-legged on the bed. They were talking quietly about random stuff—anything and everything that popped into either of their minds, actually; it was kind of nice—when Derek suddenly got a whiff of anxiety from Stiles.

“Stiles? You okay?” he asked, immediately freezing and being careful not to make any sudden movements.

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, I just—Why do you always sit under the window?”

Derek tilted his head, trying to assess Stiles’s tone. It was curious, and his body language seemed to back that up, so… “In case you want or need me to leave quickly,” he answered.

Stiles… frowned. _What the hell?_ “Why would I want you to do that?” he queried.

Derek eyed him, askance. _Seriously?_ “Um, well. Because, y’know,” he mumbled, shifting uncomfortably. “I figured you wouldn’t want me too close to you, not with who the shifter—“

“Oh.” Stiles’s voice was almost too quiet for even Derek’s preternaturally keen hearing to pick up. Derek didn’t have any idea how to respond to that, however, so he simply stayed where he was until Stiles spoke again. “You could sit in the chair, you know, if you wanted to,” the teen mumbled, glancing up at Derek through his lashes, a flush darkening his cheeks.

Derek gaped. “You sure?” he asked, not wanting to push things between them. They’d finally achieved a sort of balance between them, and he was wary of upsetting that balance.

Stiles nodded, gesturing to the computer chair. “Not like I’m using it. And… And I trust you.” His heartbeat picked up, but not in a way that suggested he was lying; rather, it suggested that he was a bit anxious about making that confession aloud.

Derek carefully got to his feet and moved to sit in the chair, swiveling it around to face Stiles. The two of them studied each other, and it almost seemed like the air in the room was waiting for them to say, to _do_ , something, but neither of them took the opportunity. Instead, Derek used it to study Stiles. The boy had regained a bit of weight, and while he didn’t carry himself with all of the bravado that he used to, he walked now with… a careful confidence. He was a lot more serious now; he still cracked jokes, but he was just as likely to lapse into silence as he was to keep laughing afterwards. It made Derek ache, how much he wanted to hear Stiles’s genuine laughter again. Wanted to hear Stiles snarking at him, wanted a reason to slam Stiles up against a wall, hear his heartbeat spike as Derek crowded him, smell the mix of fear and excitement—maybe even arousal—that always came from Stiles.

“Derek?” Derek jolted, not realizing he’d been staring. Stiles was eyeing him warily, had scooted back on the bed a little bit.

Derek shook his head, hoping to dissipate the worry pulsing from every pore in Stiles’s body. “I’m sorry. I was just lost in thought,” he said, one corner of his mouth quirking up.

“About?” Stiles asked tentatively.

 _You._ Derek didn’t realize he’d said that aloud until Stiles stiffened on the bed.

“What about me?”

 _Shit_. “Just… I wish this hadn’t happened. I should have protected you; should have known that the shifter would go for you,” Derek muttered bitterly.

“How could you have known?” Stiles demanded, moving forward on the bed until he was sitting on the edge, his legs hanging over. “Derek, we didn’t know that the shifter—“

“I should have smelled it,” Derek snarled. “Dammit, Stiles, it’s my job to protect you, and I _failed_ , don’t you get it?” He snorted, turning his head to the side and rubbing his temple.

Stiles had frozen when Derek snarled, his heartbeat spiking, but Stiles still managed to grit out, “And why is it your job to protect me? Because I’m the weak link, the puny little human in the pack of wolves?”

“Because—“ Derek cut himself off before he could tell Stiles why it was his job to protect his mate. “Because you’re pack, and I’m the Alpha; it’s my job to look after my pack.”

Stiles’s face was a mixture of disappointment and frustration. “Look, Derek, he caught us all by surprise,” Stiles murmured. “It doesn’t mean you’re a bad Alpha.”

Derek snorted. “There’s more to it than that,” he said shortly before pushing to his feet and darting out the window before he said something he’d really regret.

+++

Stiles watched Derek’s back go through the window, wondering what the hell had gotten into the werewolf. He was acting like it was Derek’s personal mission in life to protect Stiles, but why? Unless he really was just doing it to protect the weakest member of the pack, in which case Derek could just go fuck himself. Stiles didn’t want Derek’s protection.

He scowled at the open window, getting up to shut it before climbing into bed morosely. He didn’t want Derek’s protection.

He wanted the Alpha’s love.

Hell, he’d even settle for a bit of affection, or maybe just a goddamned _smile_.

He really was pathetic.

 

The next day at school was shit. Everyone looked at Stiles with pity in their eyes, a couple with outright disgust. Stiles stuck with Scott, Isaac, Erica, and Allison, but he still felt like he was alone.

Once school let out, Stiles didn’t go home. Instead, he drove aimlessly, just letting his mind wander, until eventually he realized that he was at the old Hale house. He glanced at his phone, and then swore under his breath when he saw he had killed three and a half hours, and had five missed calls and twenty-seven texts, all from various members of the pack, including Derek.

 _Derek:_ Where are you?

 _Derek:_ Stiles, answer the goddamned phone!

_(1) Missed Call: Derek_

_Derek:_ STILES! I swear to god, when I find you, if you aren’t already hurt then I am going to give you a few injuries to remember me by!

 _Derek:_ Shit. I didn’t mean that. Stiles, please. Answer the phone.

_(1) Missed Call: Derek_

_(1) New Voicemail_

Stiles opened up his voicemail, surprised to find that it was from Derek, not Scott or Erica.

“Stiles, please, answer the phone. We’re all— _I’m_ —going out of my mind, here. Dammit, Stiles, pick up! The shifter’s not back, but knowing you, you’ve probably wrecked the Jeep, and—Oh, Jesus, no, I don’t want—Dammit, _pick up your phone!_ ”

Stiles quickly dialed Derek’s number, holding his breath until the Alpha picked up.

“Stiles?”

“Derek, hey, I got your—and everyone else’s—texts and voicemails and whatnot. I was just out driving, okay? Needed to be by myself.” He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the heel of his palm to his eyes.

“Shitty day?” Derek’s voice had dropped to a sympathetic tone, and it made Stiles’s chest ache.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Stiles chuckled, but it lacked humor. “If you’re still worried about me, I’m at the old Hale house.”

Derek was quiet for so long that Stiles was half-afraid that he had hung up. He almost jumped when Derek’s voice sounded in his ear again. “Do you want me to come over?” Derek asked quietly.

Stiles nodded, but remembered that this was a phone call. Derek couldn’t see him. “Yeah. Yes, please,” he mumbled.

“I’ll be there in ten.”

 

True to his word, Derek showed up ten minutes later. By then, Stiles had gotten out of the Jeep and was leaning against the hood, tears leaking down his face. It was just too much; the nightmares, the inability to sleep because of said nightmares, the looks today in school, his father’s not-so-subtle questioning of whether or not the wolves had found Stiles’s rapist—and Jesus, why was it always phrased like that? “So-and-So’s rapist.” Like they fucking _chose_ their rapist—and Stiles’s messed up emotions concerning a particular Alpha who had just so happened to have been impersonated by the shifter while it was raping Stiles. And Stiles still had no idea why the shifter had chosen him, or chosen to use Derek’s body for that.

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice was close, and Stiles glanced up, sniffling, only to see Derek standing a few feet in front him, closer than he’d come since Stiles had been taken. “Stiles, what’s wrong?”

Derek sounded so fucking _concerned_ , like he actually cared about why Stiles was crying, and Stiles couldn’t help it; he’d spent too long trying to hold himself up. Now he just needed someone to lean on. He let out a strangled sob and fell forward, clutching at Derek’s leather jacket frantically, burying his face in Derek’s chest, trying to muffle the sobs, to bring himself back under control.

+++

When Scott had shown up at Derek’s apartment, worry and fear pulsing off of him in sickening waves, Derek had shot to his feet. He was out of the apartment, searching for Stiles’s Jeep anywhere and everywhere before Scott had gotten past saying “Stiles is gone.” He _may_ have overreacted—just a _wee_ bit—with all of the phone calls and texts, but he couldn’t help it; he thought his mate was in danger.

Then, when Stiles called him, it was all Derek could do to calm down and talk calmly and gently to Stiles, fighting down the urge to demand where the hell Stiles was, and then Stiles had asked for him to come over, and as soon as he showed up, Stiles had practically thrown himself at Derek; the first contact that Stiles had allowed since waking up in the hospital.

Stiles was clutching at him, pressing up against Derek’s front, asking for comfort, and Derek didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his arms around Stiles, holding the young man close, waiting for him to regain control, on alert for the scent of fear to enter Stiles’s scent.

Except, it never came. Even after Stiles finally stopped sobbing, not clutching at Derek’s chest anymore, but instead having his arms wrapped around the werewolf’s waist, his face pressed into the crook of Derek’s neck, he still didn’t smell like fear. He almost… Well, maybe Derek was imagining it, but Stiles almost smelled like contentment. Whatever it was, Stiles wasn’t making any move to leave Derek’s arms anytime soon. It made Derek’s chest feel tight, that Stiles wasn’t in Derek’s arms as his mate, but he shoved the feeling away. Stiles didn’t need a mate. He needed a friend.

Eventually, however, Stiles leaned back, and Derek automatically loosened his arms. Stiles didn’t pull away, but he wouldn’t look Derek in the eye, either. “Stiles?” Derek murmured, bracing himself to step away from Stiles. “You okay now?”

Stiles let out a strangled chuckle. “No, no, I’m not. You were right. I wasn’t dealing with it. And today—the looks people gave me—“ He choked back another sob, and Derek automatically ran his hand soothingly up Stiles’s spine. The teen’s words made him want to go tear some throats out—how _dare_ they look at Stiles like that, judge him like that?—but he held his wolf back.

“Stiles, you’re—“ What? Derek honestly had no clue where he would go with that, but luckily Stiles took over the conversation.

“I’m not okay, I’m not fine. Jesus fucking Christ on a pogo stick, Derek, I was _raped_. By a _shifter_. Using _your_ —Why the hell was it using your body, anyway?” he suddenly demanded, leaning back. His arms didn’t leave Derek’s waist, though, and Derek wondered if Stiles even realized that.

He swallowed nervously, but he wasn’t going to lie to Stiles. Not now. “He used my body because it was the only way he could get power from you,” he muttered. “He got power-hungry. The only way he could get the power he wanted was to forcibly take it from an Alpha’s mate.” Derek held his breath, waiting for Stiles to process that.

“An Alpha’s—Wait, _what_?” Stiles stared up at him, aghast. He stepped back, tugging against Derek’s hold, and Derek immediately dropped his arms, taking a step back to give Stiles space to think, to breathe. “But, we’re not—We haven’t—“

“It doesn’t matter what we have and haven’t done,” Derek explained, uncomfortable with this topic, but there was no way out. “We’re mates. Mated pairs in werewolves are very rare; our pack just got lucky. We’ve got Scott and Allison, Lydia and Jackson, Erica and Boyd, and you and me. The more mated pairs in a pack, the stronger the pack. But you… You’re human. You innately have more power in you. The fact that you’re an Alpha’s mate? That makes you even more powerful. That’s why the shifter wanted you, and used my body.” Derek watched Stiles cautiously. He could practically see the wheels turning in Stiles’s brain, and he wondered what, exactly, they were churning and reassembling.

“How long have you known? About us being mates?” Stiles finally asked, tilting his head up and meeting Derek’s eyes.

Derek shrugged. “Since that night in the station, when Matt almost killed all of us. I realized… I didn’t care that much about the others. But I couldn’t lose you—couldn’t even think about it. But I didn’t realize that we were a mated pair until Lydia helped cure Jackson. Their scent had something… familiar about it, and I remembered that I smelled it every time I got close to you.”

Stiles closed his eyes, rubbing his temples with his index and middle fingers. “So. What you’re saying is… I got taken because of some weird-ass wolfy mumbo-jumbo?”

Derek swallowed. “Much as I hate to admit it, yes. And I should have told you—should have warned you as soon as we knew the shifter was in town. Shifters are the only ones who can take advantage of that kind of blood magic.”

“That’s why it was so rough, why it kept cutting me,” Stiles murmured, almost to himself. Then he seemed to give himself a shake before straightening. “Well, I mean, not much we can do about it now, since we don’t have a TARDIS handy…”

Derek used Stiles’s break to inhale to cut in. “Stiles, I’m sorry. I should have—Jesus. I never thought, though, that it’d be so brazen as to actually—“

“Derek.” Derek’s name upon Stiles’s breath was quiet, but it was the step that Stiles took towards Derek that really got Derek to shut up. He didn’t say anything, just watched Stiles warily as the younger man carefully walked closer. “Yes, you should have told me,” he murmured, stopping close enough so that all Derek could see was Stiles’s eyes, which were smoldering with some strange inner light. Derek held his breath, afraid of what he might smell if he inhaled. “But only so I could have done this.”

Then Stiles leaned forward and pressed his lips to Derek’s.


End file.
